


the mirror shows not

by Ecipoe



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-08
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:34:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26888215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ecipoe/pseuds/Ecipoe
Summary: Future shenanigans ft consequences.My Inquisitor recruited the Templars and sent her royal Dalish ally to recruit the mages. Unfortunately, Atisha spends six years in the dark future where Inquisitor Nehris Lavellan never went missing. How will Atisha cope with returning after six years of a losing war?
Kudos: 2





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I uh dont know what im doing ever but i love my Cullen romancing uncanon elf eventually I'll write a character sheet for Atisha but that day isnt today

The grandson of Elgar'nan is named Mika.

An uncomfortably human name, his mother admits, for an uncomfortably human child.

Mika for all his Elvhen blood, for all his magic, for all his legacy, still looks like his father. Atisha is insulted. She labored for months to create him and bring him into this world just for him to have his father's eyes and ears and shape.

Logically, she knew her child would be dominated by the criminal thin-ness of his blood. She just hoped maybe he would look a little like her. Instead, she got a human child with amber eyes and her sister's platinum hair. She imagines he looks like his father did at that age, chubby cheeked and sweet and so very human.

Atisha loves him all the same.

Her son is perfect.

Had she not done as Nehris asked, had she not gone to Redcliffe for the Inquisition, Atisha would have never had this child. She knows this. It has been six years in a dismal future, but this child gives her hope. The world has not ended. Her country may be gone, Orlais may have fallen, the Wardens may march on Fereldan, but the battle isn't over.

Not as long as Atisha breathes.

Not as long as Inquisitor Nehris Lavellan has the strength to fight back.

It has been six years of the Inquisition operating out of ruins in the Hissing Wastes. Six years of her and Dorian studying Rift Time Magic. Six years of fighting this evil that has slaughtered her people, leveled nations, destroyed the world.

Logically, Atisha knows that to go back she must kill her son.

Mika will cease to exist. He will have been for her and Dorian, but should they return to 9:42 her child will have never been and will never be.

A mother should never be asked to do such a thing. But a god. A god to be will be asked to horrible things. Elgar'nan is gone. The Dales are gone. 

Atisha has a legacy to uphold.

So, she keeps studying. She keeps working. She raises her son, her wonderful beautiful baby boy, and knows she will give him up.

Mika for the world to have a second chance.

Creators, give her strength to forgive herself.

And they find the way. Of course they do. They are the best the world has left to offer, and with the knowledge of magic, and her husband's training of undoing magic, Atisha and Dorian have sorted out all the possibilities. It is just a matter of being in the right place.

It is a matter of resources. Resources the beaten and battered Inquisition barely has. So, they prepare their steeds. They march. It will be the last time. 

There is something to be said about red templars that Atisha knows. It is a horrible unspoken truth. A terrivle thing she has learned over the past six years while hiding out in the Wastes.

Red Templars have lost their humanity.

Logically, Atisha knows this. She also knows that Cullen will die before anyone touches the wagon containing their son. This is a fact. She would guard the wagon herself, but should she die then the spell fails. It must be the same people who went through that come back.

It must.

When the Templars come, they do not care that Mika is a child of four. They do not care that his pale hair frames his chubby cheeks in thick ringlets, a snowy lion's mane. They do not care that he cries and pleas and screams for his mother. He is alive and warm and the lyrium in them calls for him to be anything but that.

Atisha survives the raid. The inner circle, save for Josephine and Sera survive the raid. Mika does not survive. The grandson of Elgar'nan does not survive.

Atisha allows herself to take one of his beautiful ringlets.

She knew he had to die.

Not like this.

Never like this.

Her magic and Dorian's will unravel this world. Atisha will rip this very reality apart with her own blood if she has to. She will go back. No one will take from her again. Not ever again.

And only Dorian will ever know what she has given.


	2. Chapter 2

After Redcliffe, the Ambassador of the Dales is quiet. Her report is short. Undetailed save for any military information. She fits six years into three sheafs of paper, and fits what doesn't go onto the page into a mug at the tavern.

Two weeks after Atisha returns, she hands Josephine a leather pouch with a worn coin and a lock of curly pale hair.

"Could I ask you to have this set in a resin?"

"Like treated amber?" Josephine had asked.

Atisha had shrugged.

When Josephine returned it to her as a necklace, Atisha had shed a few tears, thanked her profusely, and retired to her quarters to not be seen for three days.

The inner circle gossips. Six years is a long time, even if an elf of her lineage does not show the age. A very long time. The hair, they murmur, does not look to belong to anyone they know. Rumors of a pale haired lover spread. Atisha does not dignify rumors with a response. The truth is far worse than they could ever know.

Atisha wears the pendant openly. She does not care for the gossip. She does not care about the odd look the Commander gives the necklace. If he recognizes the coin, he says nothing. She says nothing back. She will not speak to this echo. Atisha is not strong enough.

He may look like her husband, but he is not.

This is a fact that leaves her mouth bitter.

The Commander stands the same, smiles the same, favors the same leg ever so subtly to hide his old wounds. He laughs the same. And when the withdrawls are bad, he bites the corner of the inside of his lips the same. Atisha finds she must avoid him at all costs lest she do something foolish. Lest she try to ease the pain or press a kiss to his jaw or call him by some endearment she shouldn't.

He makes her feel weak of will when she is in his presence.

She treats him like any demon of desire. An imposter. A temptation. This is not her Cullen. He will never be. So, she must stay away. She must not let him draw her in with his smile and the way the skin crinkles around his eyes. He is not hers. He cannot be.

Her Cullen is dead and gone by her own unmaking of his world.

And these people who are around him.

These are not her friends.

Not truly.

Only Dorian understands this. Only Dorian, who looks longingly at his friends and drinks with her and knows what they have lost, will ever understand.

They are strangers in a world too peaceful. Things are too kind. The snow is too soft. The sky. The sky is blue. Oh Creators, she had told Mika stories of a blue sky, but did not think to see it again. He had never believed her when she told him it was so blue once.

Atisha takes solace in this blue sky with her dearest friend. They watch the sunrise together, heads pounding from too much drink, and are glad to live. What a terrible thing, she thinks, to be glad to live when her son was cut to pieces at the age of four. And she could not save him.

"You know," Dorian tells her, "It has been some many years since we have had time to do things like this."

He is right.

"It has been some many years that we have not been too occupied with sleep to watch sunrises." She tells him back.

He laughs bitterly, breath cresting white in the chill of the morning.

"Nonsense, no one slept with your boy running amuck bothering the entirety of the tower like he did. Truly, between you and," he hesitates, looking for gentle kind words that won't be rumor fodder. "and his father I shouldn't be shocked your child didn't sleep."

Atisha squeezes Dorian's hand.

"I'd prefer to not speak of it, Dorian."

Silence. Then, very softly, very sadly.

"Of course, I should have thought better."

They watch the sunrise a lot in Haven. Watch the snow glitter. Listen to the jangling of troops dragging themselves out to training grounds bright and early.

"I knew what I was asked to give, ma'falon, but I did not think it would hurt like this." Atisha tells him one morning, hand clutching the pendant around her neck like it could heal her shattered heart.

Dorian pulls her to his side, tucks her head under his chin. She lost a son. He lost a god-son. They have both lost a world. Now, all they can do is make this world better. No matter the cost. Dorian is warm and smells of wine and a bit too much hair grease. He squeezes her to him like if he lets up Atisha will disappear.

Just like everything else.

He holds her tight enough they can feel each other's heartbeat, and tells her,

"I know, Atisha. I can never be sorry enough."

"Nor can I." She replies solemnly.


	3. Chapter 3

"Who did you lose?"

Leliana asks Atisha once quiet morning in Haven. Her voice carries across the Chantry, filling the air with the softness of her accent. The Leliana she knew had lost that kindness. It shocks Atisha.

Atisha starts, standing from the stray chair she had pulled over to a dish of candles, and making to smoothing her tunic.

"Please, don't stand on my account. I did not mean to interrupt your prayers." Leliana says as she grabs a chair herself. Atisha settles back in, faces the flickering flames of the candle.

"I lost a world." She says honestly. Leliana clicks her tongue. "Of course. But that is not why you are here, a Dalish princess, praying in a Chantry."

Leliana is right. She has always been smart.

"I suppose you will pry it from Dorian eventually."

"Maybe."

Atisha allows Leliana to light her own candle. Then she pulls the pendant from around her neck and hands it to Leliana. 

"My son, Mika." Her voice catches in her throat as she watches Leliana thumb over the pendant, eyes sharp. "He must have been young." She muses, her own voice thick. "Yes." Atisha replies and accepts the pendant back. The weight of it settles comfortingly between her breasts. 

"I will pray for his soul." Leliana says softly. 

"Thank you. I've made an offer to every god I could think. Avaar and Tevinter included. I just want him to be at peace."

"You are a wonderful mother to do so. Most would not seek solace in anything they did not know."

"Most did not endure what I have, Leliana." 

It comes out harsher than expected. Atisha has the decency to feel embarrassed.

"Ir abelas. That was unbecoming of me. Thank you for keeping me company. I appreciate your kindness." Atisha tells her. Leliana grants her a soft smile. "I understand, Lady First. You have suffered. I am here should you need someone to talk to."

"Thank you."

And they pray.

When Atisha's legs are numb from sitting, Leliana says the unspoken.

"Mika is a lovely name. It is Fereldan is it not?"

"Yes it is Fereldan. He was named after his eldest aunt." Atisha will allow herself this selfish honesty.

"Ah, he sounds like he was very loved. If I may, was his father human?" 

It is so like Leliana to want to know. She loves to know everything and anything she can. Atisha will allow her to know this, if only for the kindness she has shown. Plus, how many humans does she know? Hundreds? Thousands? There is anonimity.

"Not that it matters any longer, but yes, Mika's father was human."

"I see." Slow, suspicious.

"And they were both loved."

"Of course. I would not expect otherwise."

The Chantry bell tolls. Leliana's head snaps up. "I apologize, Lady First, but it seems my duties call."

"Until next time, Leliana."

"Until next time." She agrees.


	4. Chapter 4

"You've been staring all morning." Bull comments to Atisha. She has been busy helping to keep the forge hot, magic hot and all. Atisha blinks sweat from her eyes, mops the rest from her forehead with the back of her hand smearing ash in her wake, and cocks her head to the side. Her eyes glimmer with something Bull assumes is magic.

She appreciates that he doesn't say what she has been staring at.

Bull saunters over. He leans his great frame against the fencing surrounding the forge and whistles. "Hotter than Seheron over here." He tells her. She smiles. Hot forge makes better blades and nothing gets a forge quite as hot as magic. She learned from Uncle Jun after all. "So, why the eyes?" He asks casually and just a bit sultry. Shoots her a wink. Atisha rolls her eyes in response.

"Maybe I just missed you." She teases. He laughs. "Really? What you didn't have a weird future Bull for the past few years?" Atisha smiles a thin smile at him. Bull sucks a breath through his teeth. "Oh." He says. "Oh indeed." She tells him. 

It is not easy to be told of your own death. A strange conversation. She spares him this. And Bull spares her having to tell him. Instead, he gives her a flirtatious grin. "You know, beautiful woman like you can do far more than stare, Atisha." He teases voice lilting light, but something honest nipping at the words. She laughs airily. "Is that an open offer?" She asks playfully. "Because I'm not at my best right now." Atisha gestures to herself. She's soaked in soot and ash and sweat. She likely reeks of sulfur and other unsavory scents that make the inside of her nose burn. Not her most seductive.

Bull's laugh booms halting troops in their drills for just a moment.

"Atisha I doubt any sane man would say no to you even you had just fallen into a pool of dragon's piss." He tells her all too serious. She grins. "Romantic as ever, kadan." She banters back mouth split into a grin. Bull stiffens. His hands grip the fence top tightly, jaw sets hard. Atisha realizes her mistake too late. The word cannot be swallowed back. 

"Kadan, huh? We were that close?" Bull asks too quietly for a man that size. He didn't entirely believe all that tevinter future magic bullshit, but then Atisha does things like this. Knows things she shouldn't. And he has to believe. Has to believe that another him taught her to shape that word in her mouth. Wonders why.

Atisha looks very sad for a moment. Just a moment. Then she secures her emotions.

"What was it he said?" She murmurs to herself almost, eyes distant. "'I think we're made of the same stuff' something like that. Wasn't lovers or anything. Just close. 'Qunari don't have family but close'. Bull-speak. You know." He nods, swallows dryly. "Yeah," Bull tells her. "I know."

Atisha smiles at him.

"You aren't him." She says clearly.

Yeah, he thinks, he knows.

"Not him," He agrees. "But close." She replies.

Bull does not ask more of people than they would give. She has always loved that about him. He did not ask more than her eternal friendship. He never had to ask. She had already given it.

Besides, he and Dorian were the only ones she trusted with her son, once. Atisha will love and trust him again.

Family, she thinks when she sees him. Family, she knows when he laughs. A brother of sorts. A heart she can and will love.


	5. Chapter 5

Atisha's duties in Haven are not unlike her duties were as Elvhen Advisor to the Inquisition. Her title is still Ambassador, but she fulfills the same needs. She writes to the Dales, handles military sent and supplies. Atisha smoothes relations between the Inquisition and the Dales and throws the name of the Elvhen behind all the Inquisition's negotiations. She keeps her appointments with Josephine and translates documents happily.

When she is not being a diplomat she assists in military training. Most of the new recruits have no idea how to fight magic, and few mages have the confidence to step in a training ring. Men in armor remind them of templars. Mages and emotions go together poorly. She does not fear men with swords. Not when she commands forces they could never dream of. Atisha assists the Commander in the training of the troops and keeps all her interactions curt and professional.

Outside of her military and diplomacy, Atisha lends her magic in other ways. She tends to the wounded. Healing was always her specialty, and Creators know a good healer is always in demand. Aside from healing, Atisha assists Minaeve with research. The Dalish have knowledge in magic and with training like hers, Atisha knows more than most. She helps with developing wards against demons, healing wards, runes, new magical skills focusing around rifts.

Atisha knows their enemy. Her knowledge is power.

And when she finds the time, Atisha drinks with the Chargers. Because if anyone understands that she is alone and has lost more of herself than she ever gained, it is Bull. Bull, who once in another life, called her family. Bull who trusts his other self enough to call her that again. 

And every day with every breath and every beat of her aching chest she misses her son.

Atisha makes time to mourn, and it is Leliana who enforces this. Leliana who directs attention away and takes appointments and who is kind. Leliana who, with all her suspicions and curiosities, allows Atisha this quiet.

Her duties to the Inquisition don't change much. It is just the consequence of her failures that has changed.

Atisha will serve. She will not fall. She will not fail the future Inquisitor before they have the chance to name Nehris such.

She will not let Mika be in vain.


	6. Chapter 6

Something is missing. It isn't her son. It isn't Nehris's people. They're short two advisors. Three if hairs are split. Atisha cannot figure out why the two that should be are not yet.

Or when they will be.

But the Inquisition is lacking Blight Expert Warden-Commander Mahaeriel Sabrae, Hero of Fereldan, and they are lacking their authority on the Elder One, Garrett Hawke Champion of Kirkwall.

Truthfully, Atisha misses Garrett and his family. The Hawkes were valuable and powerful and kept the Inquisition alive for many years longer than it should have lived.

She does not know if she should inform the others that they are missing two of their most important people. Let alone the people that came with those advisors. The Inquisition is lacking Marian, Warden Bethany, Warden Howe, Ser Carver, Anders, and the occasional visit of Zevran Ariani. 

These are very important people, Atisha knows.

They have power. They have connections. They are her friends.

Atisha misses the company of those who knew her. She misses the magical wisdom of Anders. She misses Bethany teasing her about her involvement with the Knight-Captain and his curls. Atisha misses watching Mika ask Carver to tell him the story about the big ogre again and how Bethany defeated it with only her bare hands while in a dress. Atisha misses Mahaeriel's odd ways of blending elvhen culture and warden knowledge. She even misses Zevran's offers to join him and Mahaeriel in private. With or without her husband. Zevran was always like that, she thinks fondly.

Atisha misses her world a little maybe.

She misses it more when she helps Cullen train the recruits. Atisha knows him. She knows him with every muscle. She knows how he will move, the angle of his shield, the drsw of his brow and set of his jaw. She knows how his hair will curl around the edges damp with sweat and how he will excuse himself promptly to attempt to wrangle it relatively flat again.

She knows how he charges.

It translates.

Atisha is fluent in Cullen.

She is fluent in so many languages. So many names. So many loved ones who aren't here. 

This Cullen is not fluent in Atisha.

She has him at an unfair advantage and uses it to hone him. A warrior is a weapon and her skills are the whetstone. This man will not be weak. She won't allow it. When Atisha spars with the Commander, she is merciless. 

She has learned the grace of an Antivan Crow. Atisha has mastered the magical skills of a Warden Mage in two styles. She knows the sharpness of a Dalish Hunter. Atisha has learned the force behind the blow that left Cullen's smile broken and scarred. She shows him no kindness, spares him no blow.

Atisha learned force magic from the best. She learned from Marian Hawke.

Cullen becomes well acquainted with the ground when they train.

He becomes well acquainted with the magic of the First of the Sun. 

In doing so, Atisha begins to teach Cullen the language of the Doomed Inquisition. She begins to teach him the battle-song of the man he could be. Bloodied and battered she shows him how to deal hurt in new ways. Ways unbecoming of a templar but singing of survival. And when she breaks something, she sets it right, and starts again.

This Inquisition will not be unprepared for the horrors that come.

Atisha and Cullen take to teaching the troops to fight with nobility, and when that fails, to live no matter what. She honors those who have not and may not come this way.

One day, after a spar that leaves them aching and sicky with sweat and dust and blood, Cullen asks her what he knows he shouldn't.

"That coin," he gestures to the resin necklace with Mika's hair and the Fereldan silver. "Who gave it to you?"

She has taught him to fight dirty. She deserves the sharpness in her chest. But Cullen is not fluent in Atisha. He does not know that her teeth were always sharper. He was frightening by force. She was frightening by pain. In the Doomed time, they were a pair to not irritate.

He can ask. She will answer. Atisha does not guarantee it will not sting.

"My husband gave it to me." Atisha replies evenly. His brow draws in, eyes darkening. Cullen exhales. "The hair?" Cullen pulls no punches. It isn't his color. Isn't his brother's. Who does she hold close to the coin that should be his? Atisha smiles a wide joy-less smile. Her voice wavers, and she is not proud. "Our son's."

He should not have asked.

He feels sick immediately.

"Our son's?" He repeats and the words are alien and foul in his mouth. Wrong. It sounds like he is speaking underwater to his own ears, the pounding of his heartbeat drowns out logic. His mouth tastes sharp.

"My husband and I's child, yes." Atisha clarifies. "Our son." She tells him. She challenges him. Cullen grips the hilt of his practice blade hard as the world spins.

He had wanted to be a templar. He had wanted to help people. He wanted to be a protector.

Cullen does not remember wanting to be a father. This other him was a different man, he thinks. An imposter. But a nasty part of him rises up hard against that thought, snaps its foul teeth, and screams that he had a son. Cullen is many things. Mostly he is angry.

"Were you ever going to tell me?" He snaps. How could she? There was a child with his blood in that future, a child that died so she could return, and she did not tell him. He isn't stupid. Cullen has never been stupid. His hands tremble. 

Atisha raises her chin, looks at him evenly. Her own rage bubbling at his response.

"What did you want me to say, Commander?"

Then she is rounding on him. Cullen understands very quickly tales of savage elves. He never had before. But she is feral and wild as she snarls.

"What was I to say? 'Hello Cullen, I just watched you die to let me live, oh and by the by we spent the last five years married and the last four raising our child who we named after your dead sister'?"

Atisha stalks forward, so close she can hear his heartbeat and smell the salt of his sweat. He does his very best not to flinch when she slams her hand to his chest.

"Or perhaps I should have told you how he had your eyes and didn't look a thing like me. Even had your curls. And I was so envious."

Her fingers are curved under the lip of his breastplate and she drags herself up to be at eye level, tears threatening to spill from her eyes.

"Better yet, should I have told you that you failed to keep him alive? That he was cut to pieces just out of arm's reach and you were not able to stop it. What did you want me to say Commander?"

Atisha had never realized how angry she was with him. She had never blamed him. Or maybe never taken the time to. But her child died and someone was responsible and she had never thought it was her husband before. But this man. This man she wants to hurt. She wants him to know that she has suffered.

He greets her every morning so kindly and distantly and Atisha supppses she must have grown to resent him a little for it.

Cullen's eyes are soft but his lips curl at the corners.

Maybe he resents her just a little too. She hopes so. Atisha cannot survive this man twice and she has a duty to this world.

"Maybe you should have told the truth instead of bottling it up and throwing it in my face all at once. Do you even realize how reckless you are being?" 

Cullen is bitter and kind and Atisha realizes distantly that there is frost under her hand.

Mages and emotions.

His hand is on her back and it is sterile and cold but somehow burning. It must be taking a great deal of focus for him to block her like this, she realizes distantly. He is keeping her magic from seeping further. Templar training and lack of lyrium. 

He must be in pain.

She does not speak and he doesn't move. The two of them likely looking a strange pair. Dancers maybe. Her clinging to him on her toes, and his hand in the dip of her waist to restrain her magic. And he smells so right and his heartbeat is the same song and Atisha wants nothing more than to melt into him and let him hold her together.

"I am sorry for what you lost, Lady First. But you must draw the line." Cullen murmurs, and Atisha is gone. He is not hers. He isn't. But she's sobbing nonetheless, face pressed against the cold, hard metal of his breastplate.

She has behaved like a hurting animal lashing out at him because he wasn't what she wanted. She knows this. His arm tightens around her and she distantly knows he is attempting some kindness. A chorus of 'I know's and 'it's going to be alright' and I'm sorry'. 

What does he have to be sorry for? He's innocent and far gentler than her Cullen was. Still has a soft heart. Hasn't been completely broken yet.

His gauntlet is catching on her hair. It tugs and hurts but she doesn't much care.

"I miss him." She chokes out. She doesn't know if she means her son, her husband, or any number of other hims she lost.

"I know." He says softly, then a little louder. "Send for a healer."

He means to sedate her.

Of course he does. She is making a scene and is dangerous and he cannot hold her magic.

Atisha swallows her grief. It takes a few rattling attempts but she does it and pulls herself away from him. Away from his heartbeat. Away from the smell of his armor polish. 

"That won't be necessary. I apologize, Commander, I let my emotions get the better of me. It will not happen again."

"It can't." He agrees.

"It won't." She tells him shakily. "I will find another to step in for magical training. I am not fit."

And before he can reply, she is walking away.

He is not her Cullen.

She was weak to push.

It will not happen again.


	7. Chapter 7

"Do something." Dorian hisses to Atisha a little too loudly. 

Creators, she was thinking the same thing.

They are watching Nehris who is staring at Blackwall over drinks. The poor dear is so pink she's practically a rose garden in bloom. If she sighs one more time Dorian is going to explode.

It's one thing to be the one pining for someone. It's another to watch someone else pine. It's all very sweet and repulsive. Atisha feels like she's going to be sick just watching it. Of course it isn't the first time she's had to watch these two be idiots.

It took two years of Nehris mooning over him last time.

"What do you want me to do?" Nehris whisper-shouts back. Her and Dorian are definitely not sober enough to be engaged in shenanigans. But that has never stopped anyone truly. 

Dorian leans against her, sloshing wine over his hand with the elegance of a concussed bronto. "Something!" He insists. Atisha, with equal grace, shoves him off her and shaking rises to her feet. She shoots him what she hopes is a wink and not just blinking stupidly, and staggers over to where Blackwall is drinking with the warriors. 

"Careful 'Sha." Bull says, reaching a hand out to steady her. She smiles at the gesture and settles on one of his large legs. His hand comes to her waist to keep her upright. She leans across the table, her elbows crack on the wood. Cassandra shakes her head. Blackwall flinches a little. Atisha hisses. It hurt. 

But she's on a mission for her dear friend.

"Gordon." Atisha says his name to grab his attention. Blackwall gives her a little nod, lips quirking in amusement. "Lavellan. You. Lavellan. Got it?" Her head is absolutely swimming and Bull is so warm. Sunbathing without the sun. Atisha very much wants to nap right here. 

Blackwall blinks at her. Bull laughs. Cassandra for her part looks a bit embarrassed.

"Pardon?" He stammers. 

"You heard the woman." Bull says with too much amusement. 

Atisha nods sagely. 

"Uh, right, what about her?" Blackwall asks. Atisha glares. Bull helps lift her upright. She must have slumped over. "Just fuck her already." The words sound funny. Oh. She's slurring. Atisha giggles. How silly. An ambassador using such language and slurring.

"What?" Blackwall's shock is accompanied by the redness of his cheeks visible even through his beard. 

Atisha gives him a funny look, turns back to Bull.

"Is he a virgin?" She asks. Bull shrugs and the movement bounces Atisha a little. Cassandra chokes. "Do something he tells me but Gordon doesn't know what to do." She complains. "Nehris will be sad." She frowns. Bull pats her head. His hand envelopes her skull. Atisha likes it. She purrs. Realizes she has made the sound and flushes red.

"Alright 'Sha. That's enough for tonight. Let's find you a bed." Bull tells her affectionately. He lifts her up, nods to the others. "But what about Nehris?" Atisha pouts. Bull pulls her to his chest and perches her on his arm. He stablizes her with the other hand so she can wave goodnight to the table, which she does clumsily. "I'm sure our Warden here will take good care of her." Atisha smiles, bubbles with laughter. "She'd like that." She tells him. "I'm sure she would. Goodnight guys, see you in the morning." He tells the others before carrying Atisha up to his room. Poor thing can't hold much drink before it's game over. He doesn't trust she's safe alone.

Won't be the first time he's slept on a floor.


	8. Chapter 8

Atisha has not slept alone in years. Even with her return to this time, she has not slept alone. Dorian has kept his bed open to her. He knows that she doesn't do well alone, and frankly, he doesn't either these days.

Atisha does not sleep alone.

Dorian takes a pretty soldier to bed.

So, she seeks out Bull. He is occupied as well as indicated by the handkerchief tied to his door in the tavern. Atisha would sleep in the barracks, but rumors are quick and an ambassador cannot behave in such a way.

She knocks on Nehris's door. Excuses herself with an apology when Blackwall's is the voice telling her to wait until morning.

Doesn't dare bother Josephine or Leliana.

Atisha finds herself outside Cullen's quarters and knows better. Her senses are sharp. The smell of him is so familiar and muted if only a little by the walls. If she strains she convinces herself she can hear his heartbeat. Knows it's a lie.

"What are you doing?" She chides herself. How foolish to walk Haven at night in the snow and find herself here. How foolish to even consider it.

Her fist raps against the wood against her will.

Atisha screams mentally at the action. Her body betrays her every time. It brings her here, it recognizes his scent, it knocks on his door.

When he doesn't reply she exhaled the breath she had been holding. He must be sleeping, thank the Creators.

Then the door creaks open and she is stuck standing there dumbstruck.

"Atisha? What's wrong? Has something happened?" 

Mythal have mercy his hair.

Her hand reaches up, fingers aching to tug one of his curls. Cullen rubs sleep from his eyes. She woke him. He gets precious little sleep and she woke him. But oh he's all curls and amber eyes and a yawn threatening to split his mouth open.

Dirthamen give her wisdom.

She manages to lower her hand to her side and counts it a victory.

"No, it's nothing. I should go." She squeaks. Cullen blinks the sleep from his eyes, shivers from the cold on his skin. Bare skin. Trousers and not much else. She keeps her eyes from the curls on his chest if barely.

Cullen folds his arms over his chest to hold in body heat.

"It's nothing?" He repeats disbelieving. "It's the middle of the night what are you doing knocking on doors?"

Her mouth works around silent responses to that. They all sound childish and inadequate in her head. Atisha feels her cheeks warming. She's been caught already, best not make it worse.

"Dorian has company." She tells him meekly. Cullen's brows raise. "Oh, I was under the impression you and he..." He trails off, gestures lightly. "No, not at all." Atisha replies.

Cullen blinks.

"I can't sleep alone." Atisha admits, eyes focused on the ground in front of her feet. "Bull and Nehris are occupied too." Atisha mumbles meekly. "I'll go." She tells him.

He sighs. The wood floor creaks.

"Alright." Cullen says. Atisha fidgets with her fingers. She wants him to just close the door. She'll pretend this didn't happen tomorrow. "Come on, it's freezing." Cullen says very gently. Too gently. She had fought with him just days ago and he is so kind when he says that. Atisha's chest aches. Her eyes snap up. He's stepped to the side and is looking at her expectantly. 

Oh Creators no.

She didn't even mean to come here.

"Tonight preferably." Cullen says just a little dryly. 

Her feet are moving without her approval again.

"I'm sorry." Her mouth is saying and Cullen shrugs as he closes the door. "Let me find a decent shirt." Cullen crosses the din of the cabin and is sorting through a dresser faster than she can process. Her eyes adjust fast and she stands awkwardly by the door. Atisha tries to convince herself to run.

Cullen pulls a shirt over his head, smoothes it out, then looks over at her.

"Night clothes?"

"Didn't mean to come here."

"Ah."

Soon he's tossing another shirt and a soft pair of trousers to her. She'll swim in them, but decency first. 

"I'll, uh," He gestures to the wall as he turns away. Atisha feels her cheeks burn and she shucks her day clothes quickly. "Right. Thank you." She tells him as she pulls the clothes on. 

She's seen all of another him. He's not seen her. Best keep it polite.

Once she's dressed she clears her throat. Cullen nods, turns and points to the bed. "Preference on side?" He asks very mechanically. It's his task voice. What he uses when he talks about a list of chores to complete. "Left." She replies. He tilts his head. "Well, good, I like the side closest to the door anyways." 

Always the soldier first.

"I know." Atisha says as she walks over and sits stiffly on her claimed side. Cullen snorts. "Right. I forget." 

She wishes she could forget.

The bed dips under his weight as he settles in and lays down. Atisha hesitantly follows suit, pulling the covers to her chin. They smell like home, she realizes. Her body melts into calm. 

"I should warn you, I'm not a gentle sleeper." Cullen says, rolled away from her.

"It's okay. I'm familiar with it." Atisha tells him. She is laying on her back. "I can help that if you'd like?"

"Please don't."

"Alright."

Another few minutes of awkward quiet.

"You aren't a cuddler by chance?" Cullen asks sounding oddly nervous. Atisha finds herself smiling. "Not like you, no." Cullen snorts again. If he were more familiar with her, she thinks he'd give her a little kick at that. "Okay, you seem to know what you're getting into. Goodnight, Lady First."

"Goodnight Commander."

Then after a moment.

"Cullen?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you. I'm sorry."

"Hush. Just don't tell anyone. My men still need to respect me as a leader not a child's holding doll."

"To be fair, I am more likely to ene up the doll suffocated in your grip."

"Goodnight." He says a little more firmly voice laced with embarrassment.


	9. Chapter 9

Atisha braids Nehris's hair and sings. Nehris is younger than she, and should have never been asked to leave home. She should have never been asked to attend the Conclave. Atisha's heart aches for this girl.

Nehris was born to a clan who swore fealty to Dirthamen. She was born low class. Not wealthy. But she was talented and smart. Her skills were recognized, and quickly Nehris was placed in training as one of Dirthamen's Whispers.

She was sent to the Conclave to serve her god.

Nehris will never get to go home marked as she is by the magic of a traitor.

Atisha mourns for this girl. 

One day, Nehris will lead them into battle against the Elder One, Atisha knows. Atisha will make sure that she comes out victorious no matter what. Nehris will live. The world will live.

But for now, she braids the girl's hair. For now she speaks their tongue. For now she laughs with her and flicks her ears when Nehris says something childish and gives her someone who knows her culture.

"I am ashamed, Hahren Atisha." Nehris murmurs while Atisha deftly weaves her hair.

"Of what, ma'ni?"

Nehris wiggles. Her ears heat a soft pink.

"Ma'isala." Nehris mumbles.

Ah. The warden.

Atisha ties off the end of Nehris's braid and allows the girl to turn to face her. She settles her hands on the rogue's shoulders. 

"We are not in the Dales any longer, da'len. Your desires bring no shame to a clan that has written you dead."

"But Mamae would be heartbroken if she knew how I feel about this shem." Nehris protests. Oh she is so young and kind and Atisha smiles.

"I am the First of the Sun and mother to a seth'lin son, Nehris. Do you not think my family would be devastated by this? It does not change how we feel, lethallan. Nor can it. You love him, so do so. We were not born for half measures."

Nehris pouts. She fiddles her fingers.

"Easy for you to say. You could have anything in this world you wanted. You're so lovely." Nehris gripes. Atisha laughs and cups her cheeks. "Oh, my friend, you've no idea how much of this world is yours already and how much is destined to you. Nehris, if you want him, tell him."

"But," Nehris begins to protest. She is shushed by Atisha who silences her with a finger to her lips.

"No half measures."


	10. Chapter 10

Atisha wakes wreathed in the smell of home. She doesn't need to open her eyes to know she is safe. His arms are around her. She can hear the deep, slow breath of a good slumber spilling from his nose and mouth. She is safe. She is home.

But the sounds outside this room are wrong.

This is not the Desert Tower.

How odd. Maybe she is still dreaming. Maybe she is still Fade touched. Atisha reaches her will out. Her magic flexes around her then snaps back to her chest. No. She cannot command the room to change shape. This is real.

The man holding her starts harshly in response to the feeling of her magic crawling over him. He draws back from her like she's burned him with a low shout. A loud thunk echoes through the air and Atisha jolts upright eyes snapping open.

Commander Cullen is on the ground staring up at her wide eyed and frenzied. His chest is heading. His mouth is slightly open. He has rolled right off the bed. Undignified for a man of his station. Atisha takes a moment to process where she is. 

This is Haven?

It is.

Right. She forgot. He allowed her to stay the night. It isn't her Cullen. This is a different man who wears her husband's face. This is a different time. Oh, she realizes, she frightened him.

A sharp rap sounds off the door.

"Commander?" The voice is unfamiliar. "I heard a sound is all well?" A guard on patrol perhaps.

Cullen sucks in a breath. He scrubs his handa over his eyes and rips his fingers through the tangles in his hair.

"Everything is fine thank you." He raises his voice just enough to be heard. Atisha does not like how her body responds to the gravel of sleep clinging to his words.

They let a few minutes go back stiffly waiting for the guard to walk away.

Then a few more minutes.

Atisha does not like the way he is looking at her.

She rises out of his bed, has to hold the night trousers up to keep them from sliding off her hips. Her clothes are in a chair in the corner. She would like to change and leave but he is just... Staring.

"Is everything alright?" She finally asks him. 

This is terribly uncomfortable.

"No. Everything is not alright." He replies. Cullen drags himself up and perches on the edge of the bed. The matress groans lightly under his weight. He settles his head in his hands and rubs his face roughly.

After a moment of his attempts to gather himself, Cullen settles his eyes on her again. Creators, he does have such pretty eyes.

"This cannot happen again." Cullen finally says sharply.

"I know." Atisha agrees. He has that look he gets when he's about to ferverantly talk. Like before a battle or before a prayer. Cullen rises to his feet, takes to pacing. She listens to the floor creak.

"I thought, if it were me, and it has been me, to show kindness." He says. She understands. No one took pity on his night terrors. How could he turn someone who struggles with sleep away? "But this cannot happen again. With my position and your position and our duties. The rumors alone. You understand of course. There's got to be a way to help you. Healers perhaps?"

And he's gone to Cullen-land where sentences barely form and what he does say isn't at all what he wants to say.

"Cullen, I know all of this. What's really bothering you?"

He shoots her an odd look, head tilting to the side.

"Of course." Cullen says low and bitter. "I suppose I can't hide anything from you." A dry chuckle. Atisha shrugs with one arm. She's still got a grip on the trousers. Cullen sucks in a breath, exhales through his teeth. He turns sharp on his heel and looks to the wall when he speaks quietly. 

"I slept." Cullen admits.

"I know." Atisha tells him. She watches the muscle in his back tense. Sees his hands ball into fists then release tension over and over. She knows what he means. He slept and the nightmares did not come and he does not know what to do with it.

"I liked it too much." Cullen rasps. He's choking around his pride to say it.

"I won't ask it again."

"No, you won't." He agrees.

Atisha takes this time to change clothes while Cullen stares at the wall blankly. As she pulls her shirt over her head he begins laughing. It's an uncomfortable scraping laugh that has him doubling over.

"Maker, he and I really were the same man weren't we?" Cullen asks between waves of laughter. Atisha stiffens. "Pardon?" She asks. Cullen turns to her, wipes tears from his cheeks. Swallows giggles and fails to keep the laughter from disappearing. "Did he marry you before or after he learned you solve the nightmares?" Cullen's laughing, his voice is meant to be teasing, but his eyes are dark and distant. Atisha very much wants to slap him at that implication. 

"Somehow after five years together and a child I imagine he thought me more than a talisman to comfort him, Commander." She snaps. Cullen's brows go up. "I am sure he did." Cullen agrees too genuinely. Atisha bites back her venomous response. Instead, she comppses her words and puts up a wall to the best of her abilities.

"It's getting late in the morning, Commander. We have duties to attend."

"Yes, we do."

"This won't happen again."

"Alright."

And Atisha walks away.


	11. Chapter 11

"The Commander is busy." One of Cullen's men. Bright young lad. He's on door duty today. Cullen can hear the lad through the Chantry doors. He's been studying maps and troop movements all morning. Making decisions. Trying to figure out how to split their already thin troops across even more territory.

"I don't recall asking. Now step aside."

And that would be Dorian. Cullen can feel a headache starting at the base of his skull. Dorian must sucessfully shove past Cullen's man, because the doors fly open and slam shut with magic behind him.

"Dorian, to what do I owe the pleasure?" Cullen asks dryly. He's busy doing important things. Unlike the mage, he can't sit around and drink his feelings like Dorian does.

Dorian crosses around the table they've set up and slots himself between Cullen and the map.

"What did you do, Commander?" Dorian asks as he fiddles with one of the little wooden carvings the Inquisiton uses to denote troops. Cullen reaches around and snatches the block from Dorian. "Elaborate." Cullen tells him. He pushes past Dorian to replace the block and continue mentally mapping troops.

"Taller, red hair, tattoos, heiress to a nation, any of this ringing a bell?" Dorian asks nonchalantly. 

Of course he would know. Of course Atisha would tell him. They're close after all.

"She came to me and I did her a favor. What's this about?" Cullen asks. Dorian rolls his eyes. "Did her a favor." He repeats mockingly. "You're no fool. We both know what happened was no favor." Dorian snaps. Cullen raises a brow. Who does this man think he is? Unfamiliar Tevinter and a mage to boot barging into this room like he owns the place to lecture Cullen. 

"Well, out with it then. You have a problem, say it." Cullen tells him.

"You know, I do have a problem." Dorian snaps. "You weren't there, Commander. You've not the foggiest clue what transpired, and here you are, toying with her. I don't like it." His tone is sharp, harsh for Dorian. 

Cullen nods.

He can respect that Dorian is looking out for Atisha. Cullen can respect a man taking up the mantle to protect someone. After all, it's all he ever wanted to do with his life. Protect people.

"I've no intention of toying with the Lady First. She and I already spoke of it. It will not happen again." Cullen tells him.

Dorian is a bit taken aback. He had been prepared to give a whole speech, maybe shout a little. Make a scene. And a point. He had even prepared a lecture on just what kind of magic he specializes in. A threat.

Then he processes.

It won't happen again.

Well, good, right?

"Was there something else you needed, Dorian?" Cullen asks when Dorian fails to say something. How odd. It's so strange to walk among friends and loved ones and find they are strangers. How odd to be threatening a man whose child Dorian loved like his own son. How strange to see a version of Cullen lacking the new scars, who is still so much more man and so much less hollow.

Dorian sighs.

"Nothing else, Commander. Just," He sucks a breath in between his teeth. "Atisha has been through enough. Do not put her through more." Dorian tells him.


	12. Chapter 12

"You wanna talk about it?" Bull asks Atisha a week after Cullen said never again. Atisha has finished a morning shift with the healers and is washing blood from her apron in the lake when Bull approaches.

"Not particularly." She replies tersely. Bull nods. 

"Good. I didn't want to either." Bull tells her. He sits down next to her on the dock and if the cold bothers him, Bull doesn't complain. 

They watch the blood swirl in the water. Blood and ice. Atisha is wringing out the apron, redipping and wringing, and maybe crying a little if she's being honest.

After a moment, Bull takes the apron from her hands. Icy water, icy hands. Atisha's nails are purple underneath from the cold. He begins working the blood out of the apron for her. Atisha listens to the slosh, wring, rain of the water as Bull works blood out of the fabric. The wind is a breeze today, and it's starting to finally smell like spring. 

"You know, 'Sha, you're always welcome to talk to me."

Sometimes, he sounds just like his future counterpart that Atisha forgets when she is. Bull is always Bull. Always kind. Always there. A wall. A friend. Family.

"Nothing to say." Atisha tells him and it's true. There is nothing left. Nothing to bury. Nothing they could understand. Everything to mourn. 

Everything to mourn.

Bull wrings out the apron one last time and folds it messily. "I think you're saying plenty, 'Sha. For what it's worth, I'm sorry." 

Atisha laughs because why should Bull be sorry? Dorian and Atisha didn't have to come back. Nehris has the anchor. She would have survived and maybe even won without them. They chose to give the world a fighting chance. They knew everything. They saw what Corypheus would do. 

They chose.

This is no fault of Bull's. 

He did not drag her through that portal. She did that herself. Atisha leans into Bull relishing the warmth in the chill. He shifts just so for her to be comfortable against him. Bull wraps one large around around her and they sit on the docks.

Atisha never took the time to admire Haven before. It is beautiful. The sun glittering off the water, the bright green buds on the trees, the puddles of slush and melting snow. It's all beautiful. If she strains she can hear nugs playing somewhere in the distance.

This. This is why she came back. This is the world she needs to preserve. A world with birdsong and stars in the night sky. A world with pastries. A world where her people are alive and her country is well. Atisha was raised to sacrifice. This is no different.

A world where friendships can survive realities, she thinks fondly as she sits with Bull. Of course it would be him. He would be the one to not change. Or maybe she just remembers a dead man differently.

Does it matter?

"After Seheron, I didn't talk either. Shit like that, war like that, changes you. You never look at the world the same again. I want to let you know, it's good to be angry. You should be. If you need to take it out on someone, I'm here." Bull finally says. And it is all he can offer. And it means the world to Atisha.

"Thank you, Bull."

"Anytime, 'Sha."


	13. Chapter 13

"What was I like?" Nehris asks Atisha.

What a question. Atisha doesn't know if she wants to answer. She remembers Nehris, Anchor eating up her arm. Remembers how the Inquisitor's battle cry was laced with sickly green. That Nehris, she was nothing like this one. The future Inquisitor was violent, angry. And in pain. So much pain.

Atisha can still see Nehris falling to her knee as she rips a rift closed. Can still see Blackwall helping her to her feet. Can smell the decaying flesh and the burn of sand to glass as Nehris reshapes reality.

The Inquisitor, she was what they needed. A warrior fiercer than a dragon. What better to fight a monster than a monster? The Inquisitor became a beast. A glowing shell of a woman. Shambling and magic warped. Angry and agonized. Her body failing every day. Her flesh kept intact by the wicked roots of the Anchor, and magic. The Inquisitor was a corpse on a timer, and she knew it. 

Nothing like this Nehris who braids sweet smelling flowers into her hair. Nothing like Nehris who sneaks treats from the kitchen. Nehris, who knits and laughs and kisses her advisors on the cheek. A girl of only two and twenty with a good heart. A kind heart.

The Inquisitor and the Herald are two different women, Atisha supposes.

It haunts Atisha. What the anchor did to Nehris. The way the magic ate her flesh. The glow of green in the back of her mouth when she spoke, scraping words and gravel voice. The withered remains of her left arm, the tendrils of scarring eating towards the beat of her heart. The glow. The unnatural glow. It never ceased. Nehris was a kind of star. A kind of sun. Broken and wrong, yet so bright you follow it towards the next sunrise.

"You were what we needed." Atisha tells her. It is the kindest thing to say. Nehris hums. "Were we friends?" She asks.

It isn't that they weren't, Atisha thinks. It is that Nehris did not bother with such things in the end. In the end, she knew that world was a failure. There could be no attachments. There could be no third chance. Nehris saw hope to grasp a world with a blue sky, and she gripped it with everything she had. Friends be damned. Lover be damned. Everyone and everything in the way of that hope was expendable. There could be no half measures. There could be no conflicting interests.

And maybe they weren't close. 

The Inquisitor knew better than that. One less attachment for Dorian and Atisha to cling to. One less reason to try and stay.

When Atisha doesn't reply, Nehris nods.

"I see." Then, she looks towards the Breach. "In the end, was it enough?" She asks quietly. This time, Atisha is honest and clear. "I pray it was, Nehris. I pray it was."

Atisha will make it enough. This girl will not become what the Inquisitor of the future was. Atisha will see to that.


End file.
